Christmas on the Run Page 7

  “She’s going to be happy to see you, Spidey,” Dallas said, his gaze on Carly.

  There were questions in his green-blue eyes, but he didn’t voice them. She was glad, because there were only so many answers she could give in front of Zane.

  “I know, and she’ll love my outfit!” Zane agreed enthusiastically, reaching for the front doorknob.

  “Hold on, sweetie.” Carly pulled him away. “We’ll go out the back.”

  “We never go out the back.”

  “Today we will, because there was a fire on the front stoop, and it’s still a mess. We don’t want to track black soot through the hospital.”

  “That’s right.” Zane nodded sagely. “I forgot about all that smoke, but I’ve been thinking...”

  “What?”

  “What if the bad guy is still out back? What if he’s waiting for us to walk outside? Just like before?”

  “The police are out there, and the firefighters. They’ll chase any bad guys away,” she responded, trying to keep her voice light and unaffected, her expression neutral. He was scared, and she didn’t blame him, but if he saw that she was, too, that would make things a hundred times worse for him.

  “And I’m here,” Dallas said, crouching so he and Zane were eye to eye. “I won’t let anything happen to you.”

  “I’m not worried about me. I’m worried about Mom. She can’t fight like Aunt Jazz. She doesn’t have the karate moves.”

  “I won’t let anything happen to her, either,” he said, a hint of a smile on his face.

  “Promise?”

  “Promise.”

  Don’t do that, she wanted to say. Don’t promise him things that you might not be able to follow through on.

  That was what her entire childhood had been. Broken promises. One right after another.

  So far, her adulthood hadn’t been much better.

  When she’d had Zane, when she’d looked into his tiny wrinkled face for the first time, she’d vowed that she would always follow through, that she would never offer him something she didn’t intend to give.

  But Dallas’s promise seemed to make Zane happy. He bounced away from the front door, heading toward the back of the house. He stopped at the yellow caution tape that was strung between the kitchen and family room. Several people in white jumpsuits were kneeling on the floor, taking pictures and putting markers near what looked like splotches of blood.

  She hadn’t noticed them before. She’d been too anxious, too focused on finding Zane and Jazz.

  “Wow!” Zane breathed, and one of the people glanced their way. A woman, her hair covered with a white hood, her red lipstick almost garish against her pale skin. Carly thought she’d tell them to stay on their side of the line, but she straightened and walked toward them, her stride brisk, her expression hard.

  “Is this the witness?” she said without introducing herself.

  “That depends on who wants to know,” Dallas responded before Carly could.

  The woman frowned. “I’m Sergeant Bliss Wright. Chance Miller and I go way back. You’re Dallas Morgan?”

  “That’s right.”

  “And you must be Zane.” She smiled, her expression softening.

  “That’s right,” he responded, mimicking Dallas.

  “I thought I’d come to the hospital in a little while and ask you a few questions while I’m there. Does that sound okay?”

  “You should be asking me that question,” Carly cut in. “He’s a little young to understand what this is all about.”

  “I understand,” Zane argued. “I’ve seen this on those cop shows Aunt Jazz likes to watch. They always question the witness right after, because that’s when the memory is best. Sometimes, they question them a lot of times, and they even go to the police station. Are we going there?”

  “Would you rather do it there?”

  “No!” Carly nearly shouted, and everyone in the room turned to look.

  She felt like a fool, her cheeks hot, her pulse racing, but she was still afraid of saying too much to the police. She’d been warned a dozen times in a dozen ways to keep her mouth shut. She’d done it because she’d been afraid for Zane. She was still afraid.

  “What I mean is, the hospital is fine. You can interview him there. If I can be present.”

  “That won’t be a problem. I’d like to interview you, as well. How about we meet in an hour? I’m waiting for the evidence team to arrive. Once they do, I’ll head over to the hospital. Do you have a business card with your cell phone number? I can call when I get there.”

  “I have one, but not on me.”

  “Here’s mine.” Dallas fished a card out of his wallet and handed it to the sergeant. It felt a little too much like he was taking control, stepping in and fixing what Carly could have fixed herself. She almost insisted on going out to the van, grabbing her purse and getting a business card from it.

  But she’d wanted Dallas’s help. She’d spent weeks planning a way to get it.

  Either she could step out of the way and let him do what he did best, or she could put up roadblocks and make everything more difficult. Her younger self would have gone with the latter option, but she’d matured a lot in the past six years. She could look at the big picture now, see the benefits versus the risks and make decisions based on careful consideration. Right now, having Dallas on her side was a lot more important than keeping him out of her business.

  “You should probably have my contact information, too,” Dallas said, handing Carly a card.

  She met his eyes, could see the questions there.

  He knew she was struggling, knew she wanted to say something. Maybe even knew she wanted to take back control.

  She kept her mouth shut and tucked the card into her pocket. Then waited impatiently while Sergeant Wright tucked hers into a pocket in her coveralls.

  “Thanks,” she said, offering a quick hard smile. “I’ll give you a call as soon as I arrive. I haven’t gotten an update on Ms. Rothschild, but if she’s awake and lucid, I’ll speak with her, too. Kill three birds with one stone. So to speak.”

  “Killing birds with stones wouldn’t be very nice, Sergeant Bliss Wright,” Zane said somberly, and she smiled again. This time it was genuine and amused. Zane did that to people: made them relax and enjoy, see the fun in life rather than the trouble.

  Please, God, keep him safe, Carly prayed silently. The same prayer she’d said over and over again. Not just recently. Always. From the day Zane was born.

  “It’s a figure of speech, hon. It just means that I can get three things done at the same time.”

  “Oh. That’s okay, then.” He glanced past her, his forehead wrinkled in the way it usually was when something was bothering him. “What are they doing over there?”

  “Taking pictures.”

  “Is that blood on the floor?” he asked.

  “It could be. We won’t know for sure until the evidence lab tests it,” the sergeant answered honestly, and Zane sighed.

  “Well, he deserved it, I guess.”

  “Who?”

  “The bad guy. You should never go in someone’s house without permission.”

  “You’re right about that,” the sergeant said solemnly, her gaze much sharper than her voice had been. “How did he get inside?”

  “He was hiding near the fence, and then we opened the back door. He had a gun, and he said I needed to come with him, but Jazz said I would come over her dead body.” He frowned. “She isn’t dead, is she, Mom?”

  “Of course not,” Carly said, hoping it was true. Praying it was true. She hadn’t heard from Boone, and she was worried about what that might mean. Had something terrible happened? Was he waiting to break the news to her when they arrived?

  “We need to go make sure,” Zane sa
id, darting toward the side door that opened from the kitchen. She grabbed him before he could run outside, pulling him back against her as Dallas stepped in front of them.

  “Wait until I tell you to come,” he said simply, and then he stepped outside into the cold gray morning and disappeared.

  Carly waited, because he was the help she’d been praying and planning for. She shouldn’t be intimidated by his take-charge attitude. She shouldn’t be put off by it, either. She’d approached him because she was desperate. She was still desperate. Maybe more so now that Jazz had been injured and Zane nearly kidnapped.

  She needed help.

  He was there.

  He was also different than she’d expected. More grounded and down-to-earth. The kind of guy who said what he meant and was probably honest to a fault.

  The exact opposite of his brother.

  Not that that mattered.

  All that mattered was keeping the people she loved safe.

  * * *

  Dallas didn’t expect there to be trouble. Not right now, anyway.

  The side yard was still filled with emergency personnel, the front yard teeming with fire crew, EMTs and police officers. He spotted Chance standing near the street talking to a firefighter. A few neighbors were outside, several of them being questioned by the police. It was possible one of them had seen something, but this was a quiet neighborhood, it was early Saturday morning and the likelihood that anyone had been awake and looking out the window was slim to none. He scanned the crowd, looking for the straggler, the standout, the person who didn’t belong.

  Everyone seemed occupied. No gawkers standing on the sidewalk. No occupied cars sitting near the curb. Nothing to set off any alarm bells, which was good and expected.

  A black Mercedes pulled up to the curb a few hundred yards away, the driver’s door swinging open. A man stepped out. He was dressed in a suit, wearing a tie, his hair cut in one of those fashionable styles. He seemed to be looking at Carly’s brownstone, his dark sunglasses hiding his eyes, his face turned in that direction. After a moment, he started walking toward the scene, his shoulders relaxed, everything about him reeking of confidence.

  Whoever he was, he knew where he was heading. There was no hesitation. No caution. He was three houses away when he seemed to realize he was being watched. He stopped cold, pushed his glasses up on his head and eyed Dallas dispassionately.

  “What’s going on here?” he asked, his eyes a cold, hard gray, his brows too well shaped and perfect. Polished—that was the word Dallas would apply to him.

  “A fire,” he responded.

  “At the last brownstone? My fiancée lives there.” He gestured to Carly’s place, a slight frown creasing his unlined forehead.

  “Carly?” Dallas asked, surprised that she hadn’t mentioned a significant other. She certainly hadn’t acted like she had anyone to turn to. Then again, the guy in the business suit didn’t look like he was capable of much more than a rousing game of golf and a few harsh words. He’d be murder in a boardroom and useless in a street fight.

  “Carly? Of course not! She has a son!” he said as if that explained things.

  “And?”

  “I want to raise my own children. Not someone else’s.”

  “If you adopted him, he’d be your own,” Dallas pointed out, biting back harsher words. He didn’t know who this guy was, but he didn’t much like him. Not liking people tended to get him into trouble, because he had a big mouth and a blunt nature.

  “Obviously, we have different opinions on the subject. Which doesn’t matter. Carly and I are nothing to each other. I’m Brett Williams. Jasmine Rothschild is my fiancée. She lives here with Carly. Have you seen her? Is she okay?”

  Dallas didn’t know anything about Jazz, but after catching a glimpse of her room, he couldn’t picture her with a guy who had his brows—Dallas glanced at Brett’s hands—and his nails done.

  Her room screamed imagination, humor, fun. This guy screamed stuck-up snob. But if he was her fiancé, he was probably worried sick and deserved whatever information Dallas could provide.

  “There was some trouble at the house. Jazz was transported to the hospital with a head injury,” he said.

  “What? Did she fall? I’ve told her a dozen times not to stand on chairs to change light bulbs or grab dishes from the high cabinets. Is that what happened? Was she doing something stupid when she fell?”

  “She was protecting Carly’s son,” Dallas replied, annoyed by the guy and his use of the word stupid. “If that’s your idea of stupid—”

  “Of course it isn’t. That was a poor word choice on my part. Jazz doesn’t do stupid things. She just doesn’t always think things through.” He sighed, running a hand over already perfectly smoothed hair. “This couldn’t have happened at a worse time. We’re planning a wedding. There’s no time for a hospital stay.”

  “I’m sure she didn’t allow herself to be knocked unconscious to inconvenience you,” Dallas responded, still annoyed by the guy’s word choices.

  Brett frowned. “I’m sorry. That sounded terrible.”

  “Yeah. It did.”

  “How is she?”

  “We don’t know yet.”

  “Does Carly? Those two are as tight as thieves.”

  “No.”

  “What hospital?”

  Dallas gave him the information and watched as he walked back to his car, cell phone pressed to his ear.

  “Who’s that?” Chance asked, jogging toward Dallas.

  “Brett Williams. Jazz’s fiancé.”

  “It didn’t look like the two of you were having a pleasant conversation.”

  “He was upset that she was injured when they’re in the middle of planning a wedding.”

  “Nice guy.”

  “I was thinking the same.”

  “I guess he’s on the way to the hospital?” Chance nodded toward the Mercedes, watching as Brett climbed in. “I’m surprised he came here at all. Boone was supposed to call him. Carly made sure he had Jazz’s phone with the contact information.”

  “Either Boone didn’t have a chance, or he wasn’t able to reach the guy. Either way, Brett ended up here.”

  “And you don’t like him?”

  “I don’t know him enough to form an opinion one way or another.”

  “Then why did you look like you wanted to take his head off?”

  Because, he could remember how he’d felt when he’d been told about Lila and the twins. He could remember the devastation and heartbreak, and he couldn’t imagine anyone who really loved another person not feeling the same. He couldn’t say that, so he shrugged, walking back toward the house, Chance falling into step beside him.

  “You’re not planning to answer the question?” he asked as they reached the side door.

  “I don’t have an answer. Except that I would rather see a man cry because the person he loves is hurt than hear him complain that he’s being inconvenienced by the injury.”

  The side door was cracked open, and he touched the old wood. It swung inward.

  Carly was just beyond the threshold, her hand resting on Zane’s shoulder. Exhausted mother dressed in running gear. Excited kid dressed like a superhero. Something about them standing there together made Dallas’s heart ache. For what they had and for what he’d lost.

  He’d have turned away, but she was watching him, her eyes the soft pure green of a summer growth.

  “Is everything okay?” she asked, and he nodded, afraid his voice would be gruff and rough with emotion.

  “You look upset,” she continued, guiding Zane closer to the door.

  “Just wondering what Jazz sees in Brett.”

  “Did you meet him?”

  “Yes.”

  “Then I’m not surprised you�
��re wondering. I figure she probably sees the same thing I saw in...” Her voice trailed off and she glanced at Zane.

  She didn’t have to finish.

  Dallas was pretty certain he knew the end: the same thing I saw in Josh.

  If she said it, he’d have asked what that was. She lived in an area most people couldn’t afford, in a beautiful home that anyone would be proud to own. She’d obviously made a good life for herself and her son. Which meant she had to be hardworking, driven and determined.

  So...

  Yeah.

  What had someone like that seen in someone like Josh? How had a woman who knew how to work ended up with a guy who’d have done just about anything to avoid it? How had someone who was willing to fight for the people she loved ended up with a man who’d only ever fought for himself and his addiction?

  He didn’t ask, because Zane was there.

  But he wanted to know.

  He was curious about Carly, and he wasn’t sure that was a good thing. Curiosity could get a man into trouble. Especially when that curiosity was focused on a woman who had summer-green eyes and a will of steel. She’d wanted help for her son, and she’d gone after it. She’d risked everything to find someone who could protect her child.

  He admired that.

  He admired the way she stood with her hand on her son’s shoulder, her gaze on Dallas—direct and unwavering.

  Admiration and curiosity, and Christmas looming on the horizon, all the old memories and heartache looming with it. If he let himself, he might get in deeper than he wanted. He might find himself getting caught up in Carly’s troubles and in her life.

  He wasn’t sure how he felt about that, but he wasn’t going to walk away. That wasn’t the way his father had raised him. Timothy Morgan. The man who’d been willing to take a chance on two scrawny kids who’d been in foster care for so many years, they’d forgotten what family meant.

  Did Carly know that Zane’s middle name was the same as his grandfather’s? Had Josh had something to do with that?

  More questions that he wasn’t going to ask.